Sunday, October 04, 2015

Summer nights and still water

Knut Hamsun described to a correspondent in his imperfect English the theme of his novel Pan (1894): “Think of the Nordland in Norway, this regions of the Lapper, the
mysteries, the grand superstitions, the midnight-sun, think of J. J.
Rousseau in the regions, making acquaintance with a Nordlands girl — that
is my book.”* This 'J. J. Rousseau' figure is as strangely driven as Rousseau himself, living alone in a hut and exploring the surrounding mountains and forests whilst torturing himself over a young woman. Looking back I see I have only mentioned Knut Hamsun's writing here once before and that was in connection with the poisoning of a dog (in his novel Mysteries) rather than in relation to landscape. Regrettably another dog meets a similar fate in Pan but rather than dwell on that I will recommend here the novel's poetic descriptions of the Nordland landscape, as it emerges from the snows of spring into the heat of summer until eventually the sunlit nights are over and darkness returns. This for example, is the beginning of Chapter 13 (from a 1927 translation in the public domain), full of rapture but with an undercurrent of unease:

Summer nights and still water, and the woods endlessly still. No cry, no
footsteps from the road. My heart seemed full as with dark wine.

Moths and night-flies came flying noiselessly in through my window, lured
by the glow from the hearth and the smell of the bird I had just cooked.
They dashed against the roof with a dull sound, fluttered past my ears,
sending a cold shiver through me, and settled on my white powder-horn on
the wall. I watched them; they sat trembling and looked at me—moths
and spinners and burrowing things. Some of them looked like pansies on the
wing.

I stepped outside the hut and listened. Nothing, no noise; all was asleep.
The air was alight with flying insects, myriads of buzzing wings. Out at
the edge of the wood were ferns and aconite, the trailing arbutus was in
bloom, and I loved its tiny flowers... Thanks, my God, for every heather
bloom I have ever seen; they have been like small roses on my way, and I
weep for love of them... Somewhere near were wild carnations; I could not
see them, but I could mark their scent.

But now, in the night hours, great white flowers have opened suddenly;
their chalices are spread wide; they are breathing. And furry twilight
moths slip down into their petals, making the whole plant quiver. I go
from one flower to another. They are drunken flowers. I mark the stages of
their intoxication.

Seascape from the 1995 Henning Carlsen film adaptation,
starring a young Sofie Gråbøl

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My book

About this site

This blog explores landscape through the arts: painting, installation, photography, literature, music, film... I've also on occasion covered the creation or alteration of landscapes by architects, artists and garden designers. For the first year I did several short entries each week; since then I have reduced the frequency and some posts are a bit longer. In naming this site 'Some Landscapes' initially I just saw it as a few modest notes and didn't know if I'd keep it up. Of course it will always only cover 'some' landscapes, even though I occasionally like to think of it as an expanding cultural gazetteer. There is a pretty long index (see above) listing the artists of all kinds that have been mentioned here. There are also maps and a chronology of posts. I started writing this blog using the name 'Plinius' (a little tribute to the younger and older Plinys) and am now rather attached to it as a 'nom de blog'. Comments are very welcome but are moderated to prevent spam. Plinus / Andrew Ray.